


@Pavoglorio's Inglorious Adventures

by AuditoryCheesecake



Series: A Cheesecake's Tumblr Shorts [3]
Category: Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Adoribull - Freeform, M/M, Makeup Youtuber Dorian, Modern AU, Skyhold Pride Parade, Tasteful Fade To Black, Tasteful Rainbows, Tumblr Famous Tumblr Drabble, Unreasonably Popular Bull, yep
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-15
Updated: 2016-04-15
Packaged: 2018-06-02 08:59:27
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,331
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6560182
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AuditoryCheesecake/pseuds/AuditoryCheesecake
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Tumblr wasn't designed to be a dating website, but Dorian's never been one to play by the rules.</p><p>(A curated collection of some Tumblr prompts... about Tumblr. Bigger, better, fewer typos.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	@Pavoglorio's Inglorious Adventures

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks to everyone who encouraged me to pursue this self-indulgent shmoop, especially the original anonymous prompter!
> 
> (Unbeta'd, because anyone proofreading this would tell me to chill with the italics, and I will _not_.

Dorian always turned off his computer and didn’t touch it for at least half an hour after he posted a new video. He washed the dishes he’d left in the sink that morning. He tidied his entire room, not just the small section visible from his webcam. He vacuumed, and took a determined and focused walk, not allowing himself to turn around until he heard the heavy bells of the chantry strike the hour.

The first thing he did when he got back was check, of course. He left the youtube comment section alone; he didn’t hate himself that much. But his tumblr followers were a kinder set, and smaller. He had a core group of people who not only reblogged but also commented on all his videos, and he recognized their usernames with fondness.

He was a bit nervous about this video, really. Most of his makeup tutorials were small things like “How to Cover a Hickey” or “Contouring with Facial Hair” (that was one of his most popular ones) but since it was Pride Week in Skyhold, he’d gone all out. He was more than a little nervous to see how his friends (yes, friends, even though he’d never tell them that) responded to him painting rainbows across his face.

They’d been tasteful rainbows. Dorian had convinced himself of that four times while he edited the video.

The comments were encouraging, the amount of likes simply gratifying.

He put on some music and made himself dinner, an eye on his phone. His usual group had all made an appearance except one… Wait. There he was. The porn blog.

Well, alright, that wasn’t the only thing on the blog, but it was an identifying factor. There were also pictures of the guy’s cat (which was either very small or his hands were large enough to make Dorian swoon), selfies from the gym (which did make Dorian swoon, but only in the privacy of his own home), positively adorable arts and crafts projects, mouthwatering recipes, and terrible, terrible puns. The man had no sense of personal branding, and it would have been offensive that he had so many more followers than Dorian if he weren’t so damn nice.

He’d shown up in Dorian’s mentions one day during a particularly ugly altercation with a group of Tevinter traditionalist blogs, and ripped the assholes to shreds in a very satisfying way. 

Not that Dorian couldn’t have done that himself.

His commentary was paragraphs long, as always. It was peppered with advice and encouragement for anyone wanting to try Dorian’s techniques, and compliments for Dorian himself. They ranged from the discreet (”And even if your eyes aren’t the same pretty color as @Pavoglorio’s…”) to the absurd (too many, _too many_ , references to “mustache rides”) to the insightful and genuinely sweet (why yes, Dorian _had_ painted the artwork in his room and yes he _was_ very talented with his hands… alright, so maybe “sweet” was an overstatement.)

Dorian absolutely did not, in any way, have a massive crush on a man he’d never met and likely never would. He did finish cooking and sit down at the table with a glass of wine before he pulled up the page on his phone.

A message popped up, loud and startling. Dorian almost dropped his phone on floor. He’d recognize that icon anywhere.

_I didn’t realize you were in the Skyhold area!_

His phone pinged again.

_I’ll be at Pride too!_  
_I was going to say “I’ll keep an eye out for rainbows” but…_  
_maybe you should give me your number and we can meet up_

Dorian stared at his phone. Thank the Maker that tumblr didn’t show when a message had been opened. He downed the rest of his wine and called Felix.

“So message him back.” Felix didn’t sound appropriately concerned about the situation. “Get his number, call him, I know you know how the rest of that goes.”

“I can’t just _talk_ to him, Felix.” He poured himself more wine. “What if I sound stupid and he never talks to me again? What if he does?”

“He’s already watched that ridiculous Halloween special you did last year. If that didn’t scare him off, nothing will.” He could hear the shuffle of paper on the other end. Felix wasn’t taking this seriously at all.

“You’re such an encouraging friend. Truly, the most caring and supportive.”

“You’re welcome.” Dorian rolled his eyes. “Fasta vass, I think I left a form in my office. Just message him, Dorian.” He hung up.

Dorian texted Mae. She’d understand.

Mae’s advice was to “get that” and Dorian felt betrayed. But, apparently, there was nothing to do except respond. Dorian could do this. He was a witty conversationalist, he had followers and subscribers all over Thedas, he was really quite good at talking to people face to face.

 _Hi_ , Dorian typed, and he immediately regretted it. “Hi.” How utterly banal. He was better than this. He poured himself another glass and focused on sounding clever.

* * *

Pride was Dorian’s favorite thing about the South, at least in theory. Pride with Sera was an adventure, a trial, and full of potential dangers. Dangers specific to her and anyone who spent time with her. Like flannel avalanches.

“I have never even seen you wear most of these shirts.” Dorian grumbled from underneath a pile of plaid. He lay on his back and batted away a ratty, sleeveless… thing when she threw it at his head. “We’re going to be late.”

 _Dorian_ had planned in advance. _Dorian_ had been up early to do his make up. _Dorian_ had known that he would want to change his outfit three times and had given himself time to do it.

“You mean _you’ll_ be late,” she shouted from somewhere inside her closet. Dorian, a good friend and a kind person, hadn’t told her to come out of it yet. It was a terrible joke and she had less than five minutes until he said it anyways. She stuck her head out with a devious grin. “For your date.”

Dorian sat up and threw the sleeveless rag of a shirt back at her before she disappeared again. “That’s exactly what I mean. He said he’s with a group of ten people. If you make me go meet them all alone I’ll… I’ll never help you cut your hair again.” A weak threat. It would mean nothing to her. She’d cut her hair on her own long before Dorian was there to protest it and would continue to do so long after he lived somewhere he didn’t have to see it every day.

She took pity and emerged with a pair of identical combat boots in either hand. “Which of these, yeah?”

* * *

Dorian was abominably nervous. Sera’s arm was around his shoulder, and she was jumping up and down, shouting and waving at someone across the street from them. Dorian was frozen stock still, his phone buzzing in his hand because standing just a few feet away, his own phone up to his ear, was definitely the Iron Bull.

They’d talked on the phone exactly once, though they’d been texting nonstop for days now. It had been an interesting experience, putting a voice to the face. A deep, compelling voice that Dorian certainly wasn’t “enamored of,” absolutely not, Mae. Voices of unexpected internet friends could be _hot_ , but that was as much as Dorian was willing to say.

Dorian slipped out from under Sera’s arm and pushed through the crowd before he was able to talk himself out of it. He tapped Bull on the shoulder. (He did his best to, at least. Maker, the man was even taller than he looked in his pictures.)

Bull turned and looked down at him, confused for half a second before his face split open in a grin that Dorian would never had thought to call “handsome” until that moment. Bull held up his phone, Dorian’s number still on the screen.

Dorian stuck out his hand for Bull to shake. “Hi,” he said, then repeated himself louder, because no one around them had any respect for Dorian’s nerves and were all being exceedingly loud. “I’m Dorian.”

“I guessed that.” Bull smiled down at him and Dorian was very aware of how his makeup must have streaked, how his hair was at a horrifically awkward length (he should have decided to grow it out later) how sweaty and gross he was from standing around in the hot sun all day. He pulled his hand back to fix his hair, to fix his mustache, to do something, but Bull caught his fingers in an awkward grip.

It wasn’t really a handshake, or anything that Dorian was able to immediately identify as a familiar gesture. It was just Bull’s massive fingers wrapping around his own, squeezing just a little, holding– well. Holding his hand. Dorian raised his most elegantly questioning eyebrow, hoping he looked less shocked than he felt.

“Lots of people around.” Bull shrugged. “Now that I’ve found you, wouldn’t want to let you go.” Dorian made an extremely unattractive noise in the back of his throat (not laughter, certainly not a snort) and Bull smiled even wider.

Sera tackled Dorian suddenly and aggressively, then tried to hoist her new dwarven friend onto Bull’s shoulders. (“Just grab his horns, Widdle!”)

Dorian met Bull’s… (troupe? Band? Pack of troublemaking children?)... friends, and absolutely failed to bond with any of them.

Bull barely let go of his hand once.

As a group, they followed the crush of people away from the parade route, to a bar, then another bar, then a club, and then Dorian noticed that it was close to four in the morning, and Bull walked him home.

“It’s not like I’m _old_ ,” he said to Bull as they turned the last corner. “I’m just not _young_. I could pull all-nighters in college, but I have job where I have to sit at a desk for seven hours, and, oh this is me, I just can’t summon the will to keep up with Sera and her terrible honey whiskey. You know she only buys it because there’s a bee on the bottle.” He may have been talking for five blocks now. It probably started when Bull had stopped just _holding_ his hand and started doing things like rubbing Dorian’s fingers when he said they were cold.

Dorian stopped in front of his door, not sure how to read Bull’s expression. It wasn’t a particularly nice apartment building, he knew. It was hard to find a place that wanted to rent to a mostly-broke ‘Vint.

“Do you want to come in? For a drink, or something similar?” 

Bull smiled at him. “I’ve actually got to work tomorrow, but--”

“You have to _work?_ ” Dorian scowled. How irresponsible of Bull, to let Dorian keep him out so late!

“Not ‘till like ten, so--”

“What do you even do?” Why didn’t Dorian know what he did?

“Some construction stuff--”

“You have to be at work in seven hours to… to haul around boards and, and hammer things, and I made you walk me home!”

Bull put a hand on his shoulder. “It’s really alright, Dorian. I was happy to.”

“As well you should be,” Dorian said.

Bull laughed. “You’re a lot more talkative than you seem in your videos.” Dorian was very aware of Bull’s closeness, and the way his lips moved when he talked. Somehow, a long walk in the cold Ferelden night hadn’t sobered him up as much as usual. “You always seem really… poised.”

“Are you suggesting I’m not “poised” right now?” Dorian sniffed dismissively. “I’m hurt, Bull. Truly injured.”

“You’re more sarcastic, too.”

Dorian rolled his eyes. “Well if you’re not going to come inside, you should at least kiss me goodnight like a proper gentleman.”

Bull pressed him up against the wall of the building. “Who said anything about proper?” He grinned, and Dorian gripped his horns and pulled him down into a kiss.

* * *

Each step was more laborious than the one below it, and by the time Dorian made it up all four flights of stairs, he was glad that Bull had left. Besides, he remembered as he opened the door, the apartment wasn’t exactly neat enough to receive visitors. He kicked his shoes off and carried the used coffee cups to the sink so he’d have _one_ less thing to do in the morning.

Dorian stumbled to the bathroom and scrubbed the remnants of his makeup off, as well as the light coating of glitter that he’d picked up at the club. He leaned on the sink and stared tiredly at his reflection in the half-light that came in through the open door. He hadn’t bothered to turn on the obnoxious florescent overhead.

He looked… rather awful, really, with the beginnings of bags under his eyes and his mustache curling the wrong way on the left side. He’d probably have a terrible headache in the morning. He might, possibly, be getting too old for this. But he couldn’t help but smile at himself in the mirror. His hand was still warm were Bull’s fingers had wrapped around it on the walk back, and his lips still tingled a little from the kiss. Their first kiss. First of many, he decided.

He fell into bed and plugged his phone in, shooting off a text each to Sera, Felix and Mae that he’d made it home with no trouble. Terrible worriers, the lot of them. He regretted not taking a selfie for his followers before washing off his makeup. He settled for a text post, though he’d probably find five typos in it when he woke up.

He texted Bull, just a simple _I had fun._ It was easier to text him now, knowing how he talked in real life, that his exclamation points weren’t sarcastic, being able to envision the expressions that matched the string of emoticons he got in response.

 _me too_ came at the end, and Dorian fell asleep smiling.

* * *

The morning was hell.

Sera burst in around noon, and did Dorian ever regret giving her that key because all she wanted to do was drink the coffee that had taken him a lot of effort to make and talk very, very loudly and very, very quickly about someone named Widdle. Or Dagna. Or some other name completely. He sat at the kitchen table with his head in his hands until she wore herself out.

“And you’re gonna see the tall one again, yeah? Kinda expected him to still be here.” She looked around like Bull might have been hiding under the table. “He isn’t, is he? You’re looking pissy ‘cuz you’re hung over, not ‘cuz you’ve got him stashed away in your room?”

“No, Sera, I’m not hiding a gentleman caller from you.” He shoved himself to his feet. “Give me fifteen minutes and we’ll get food. You can tell me more about…”

“About Widdle, yeah!” She followed him while he struggled into the easiest clothes he could find, and grabbed his phone before he could, dragging him out the door.

He trudged after her to the only only brunch spot they could agree on (they couldn’t even agree on calling it brunch) and tried halfheartedly to rescue his phone from her clutches. She finally tossed it across the table to him when he got a text. (He was sure it was just to laugh when he failed to catch it and nearly fumbled it into his coffee.)

The text was from Bull, and Dorian knew he was smiling stupidly by the way Sera started to cackle. _we should get together again_ it said, with no regard to grammar. _just the two of us ],)_

 _You wait to ask me out over a text?_ Dorian hoped his indignation carried across. They weren’t middle-schoolers. _Also, is that supposed to be an emoticon?_

_can u say yes or no? krem wants proof_

_Well if KREM needs to know, then by all means._

_is that a yes??_ Who did Bull think he was, using two question marks like Dorian was the one being unreasonable?

 _You’re awful at this, you know. Very unconvincing. Try again._ He sent back, and then set his phone down to finish his coffee and complain to Sera. Bull could stew for a few minutes.

His phone pinged, not his text tone, and he picked it with a suspicious frown. Apparently, Bull had mentioned him in a post. 

_If this gets 25 notes @pavoglorio will go on a date with me_

_#help a brother out!_ He’d tagged it. _#come on guys i want him to think i’m cool!_

Something sharper than annoyance curled in his gut. “Excuse me, Sera.” She had her phone out too, and waved him away as he stood up and walked out of the cafe. He leaned against the wall and called Bull.

He picked up quickly, and Dorian waited until the laughter on the other end died down. “Dorian?” Bull said hesitantly, after the pause got long and a bit awkward. “Shut _up_ , Krem!” He hissed at someone in the background.

“Bull.” He set his feet, even though Bull couldn’t see him. “Take that post down, now.”

“The one about–”

“You don’t get to use your followers to bully me into going out with you.”

“I wasn’t– oh shit.” There was fumbling from Bull’s end, heavy footsteps, a door opening, a computer starting up. “Shit, I’m sorry. Really. I was joking with the guys, Krem said he couldn’t believe that you were actually into me because I’ve been sorta obsessed with your videos, and. Fuck.” He trailed off with a massive sigh. “It’s gone. I’m really fucking sorry. I am awful at this, you’re right.”

Dorian had prepared himself for some sort of argument, not actually being listened to. “It’s okay?” He said.

Bull groaned. “No it’s not. I’ll back off, I’m sorry. I just had a great time yesterday and I… ah fuck. You don’t need some random guy from the internet bothering you.”

“Would you stop apologizing for one minute?” Dorian snapped. He imagined he could hear Bull’s teeth click. “Honestly, all I said was delete the post, not stop talking to me.”

“Oh.”

“Yes, “oh.” I told you, didn’t I, that I enjoyed myself? I believe I may have even tried to get you to come in for coffee.”

“Yeah,” Bull said hesitantly. “I’ve kinda been kicking myself for not taking you up on that.”

“Well, you can take me out for coffee, if you like. The only condition is that it’s just you and I, and not because anyone got guilt-tripped into it.” He ran a hand through his hair, not preening, just arranging. “If it all goes well, I’ll give you all the proof you can handle.”

“Alright.” Bull’s voice had picked up the pleased rumble Dorian remembered from the day before.

“And Bull? I hope you realize that you vastly undervalued me on that post. I’m worth fifty notes at least.”

* * *

“Hey, uh. One thing.” Bull stopped Dorian in his very important task of unbuttoning Bull’s shirt. “The camera’s off, right?”

Bull was looking at the little tripod on Dorian’s desk, which was currently pointed in the direction of the bed. 

“It is.” He went back to the buttons.

“Are you sure? Because, well, I’m not _against_ filming, but, we should probably talk a bit about--” he stuttered gratifyingly when Dorian’s teeth grazed his throat. “And maybe not, y’know, the first time we do this?”

Dorian clambered reluctantly off Bull’s lap and picked the camera up off the desk. He made a show of checking that it was off, and put it in the closet. “Happy now?” He asked, and Bull laughed. Dorian liked Bull’s laugh. He leaned over Bull, and let himself be pulled down onto the bed.

* * *

Dorian fussed over his camera, having finally won his battle with the lights.

“I suppose I’d grown complacent, only lighting myself. Why are you so damned tall?” He glared at Bull, who was sitting on Dorian’s desk chair with a guileless expression. “I might have to find you a shorter stool. Stop spinning, your horns are messing with the contrast.”

Bull grabbed his hand and pulled him in for a kiss, and yes, alright, maybe Dorian was working himself up more than he needed to.

He straightened his brushes on his desk and tapped the webcam a hairsbreadth to the right. 

“Okay.” He sat down beside Bull on the chair he’d pulled in from the kitchen and opened his recording app. “This might take a few takes. You’re sure you don’t have anything you’d rather be doing this afternoon?”

Bull smiled down at him and squeezed his hand. “I’m happy right here.”

Dorian refused to blush. His skin was dark enough that it probably wouldn’t ruin the colors onscreen, but why take the chance?

He turned to the camera, resisting the urge to direct Bull. He knew the expression that was on Bull’s face, having been woken up by it just that morning. If the great lummox wanted to open the video by grinning foolishly at Dorian, then that was his own fault.

Dorian hit record. “Hello, darlings. This week, I’ll be demonstrating the techniques on my lovely assistant. We’ll start with an important question in some circles: can you rock pink if you have a grey skin-tone? Our answer-- absolutely.“

* * *

“Look, I’m not saying you _can’t_ make your own lipstick, I’m just saying it never turns out the way one plans.” Dorian gestured emphatically with his fork. “There was this whole fad a few years ago, melting crayons to make unique colors, I’ve even heard of using bubblegum. It’s not a good idea. It’s a multibillion dollar industry for a reason. Good makeup isn’t as easy as beeswax and food coloring.”

“Tried it a few times, did you?” Bull was laughing at him, he knew it.

“Yes! And it doesn’t work!”

“So, you’re basically saying that _you_ can’t make your own makeup. Other people might be better at it.”

“You’re twisting my words,” Dorian complained.

“That’s not all I’ll be twisting.” Bull winked, and Dorian rolled his eyes.

“I object to this treatment.” He set down his glass. “You lure me in with promises of food seasoned with things besides salt and snowmelt, and then you use terrible, terrible lines.”

“But they work, don’t they?”

Dorian took a bite of curry and chewed stubbornly instead of answering. He patted his mouth primly with a napkin.

Bull leaned forward and swiped at the side of Dorian’s mouth with his thumb. “Missed a bit.” 

“I did _not_ ,” Dorian started to say, but Bull licked at his fingers in a supremely obscene manner. “Oh, honestly.”

Bull raised one eyebrow.

Maker preserve him from ridiculous men. “Yes, fine. The lines work. But it shouldn’t count, we’re already dating.”

“It totally counts.”

* * *

Dorian didn’t actually consider himself vain. He’d started his channel out of… altruism? Self-promotion? A desire to share his skills with a wider audience than his goldfish. A possible way to attract employers in the technical side of show business.

Not this.

Never this.

This was… a gimmick. This was caving to pressure. This was Bull and Josephine whispering and more than a little tipsy, hiding his brightest pallet of eyeshadows with their bodies, and giggling. This was not going to end well.

“And next,” Josephine announced to the camera, handing Bull a brush that Dorian had never once allowed to touch that pallet, “we’ll be moving onto contouring.”

Dorian glared, furiously. They were _technically_ doing everything in order. Everything else was wrong. Very, very wrong. Bull touched the brush to Dorian’s cheek.

The rules of the video were simple: Dorian wasn’t allowed to talk. Josephine narrated, and Bull applied the makeup. To Dorian. Who wasn’t allowed to talk. They had four unusable takes already. He didn’t think he’d ever dreaded anything as much as the final reveal.

To distract himself from whatever Bull was doing (with a brush and his beauty blender now, Maker) Dorian composed captions for the video.

_My boyfriend does my makeup, my best friend gives me a heart attack._

No, too wordy.

_The Worst Makeover of My Life._

No, that honor went to his mother’s young friend Divinia. Dorian wasn’t a snob, not really. He was just never letting a “beauty school student” near his hair again.

Bull snorted at whatever he’d done, and Dorian turned a beseeching expression on him. To add insult to injury, they’d finished all the pink moscato Josie had bought, and moved on to Dorian’s personal supply of much better wine. He took a long drink, turning his face out of Bull’s reach.

Bull put down the brush and smiled at him. Dorian, Maker protect him, smiled back. It was fun, if he was able to forget to imagine what horrific things they were doing to his face. He even agreed to let Bull adjust his mustache. That, right there, was true love. (They all knew it. None of them had mentioned it. Bull had looked entirely too touched when Dorian sighed and acquiesced.)

“The eyeshadow!” Josie crowed, and handed Bull something behind Dorian’s back. It wasn’t one of his eyeshadow pallets, because those were all on the desk in front of him. He turned his best skeptical eyebrow on Josephine. Bull could pretend he hadn’t sat and watched Dorian do dozens of these videos, she had no excuse.

Josephine smiled at him and patted his cheek carefully, brushing her palm off on her jeans afterwards. Dorian closed his eyes with his most exaggerated sigh yet (he’d reach his limit, if he wasn’t careful) and turned back to Bull. Maybe if he didn’t watch, it would end faster.

Bull kissed him quickly (maybe he wouldn’t even edit it out). “Don’t look so gloomy, we’re almost done. You’ll get to see soon.”

“That’s precisely what I’m afraid of,” Dorian grumbled, and smiled at him.


End file.
